Blossoms
by DoofiPhoenix
Summary: Murata, Wolfram and Yuuri's angst-ridden tale of love.
1. Blossoms

**Blossoms**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Kyou Kara Maou**_**. And for this case, be glad that I don't. I don't believe I would want it to be as serious.**

It was dawn, and the morning light was taking its time streaming in through the windows. Wolfram, however, would not wait for the yellow bands of sunshine to kiss his head on massive princely pillow; he dressed in his blue uniform and moved over to his balcony. He left no one in his bed, for that was it - it was Lord von Bielefeld's own bed, in his own room, and he spent the night in a solitary, though extremely uneasy, slumber.

The balcony faced the east, and the early sunshine was just starting to grow aplenty. The breeze caught his unbrushed hair - odd it was that he forgot to groom the rest of himself as he adorned his prized clothing - and lifted the golden strands to the fragrant breeze, while ruffling a few pink petals into them from the tree that grew above. The sweet scent of Gracious Greta - a newly dedicated flower - caressed Wolfram's face as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Ah, if they saw the Selfish Little Brat here in his current setting, how would the inhabitants of the Blood Pledge Castle swoon! The maids would be all aflutter, Lord von Kleist would forget his jealous regard for the his Majesty, his brothers Lord Weller and Lord von Voltaire would gaze at him in silence, the former with the gentle look of a care-giver, and the other with an air of stiff approval.

His Majesty would approve as well, but never fall into the ecstasy that the youngest prince desired of him. Unwillingly, Wolfram's mind went back to events of the previous evening.

_After the celebrations marking the start of Yuuri's third year of service to the Demon Kingdom, the young monarch retired to his bedroom. Wolfram followed, and as soon as Yuuri donned his nightwear (as his fiancé watched), Yuuri, with his back facing Wolfram said, "I can't make that decision, Wolfram. I'm sorry if the kingdom was expecting us to renew our engagement vows, but I just can't do it."_

_Wolfram swallowed inaudibly, and even though he would not believe it himself, he accused, purely out of habit, "it's that girl you were dancing with, wasn't it?"_

_Yuuri knew that he was bluffing, and turned to face the blonde prince, "Wolfram, you know I wouldn't...and you know that I'm not ready to make a decision, because I still can't imagine myself being with a guy..."_

_His oft-repeated confession was cut short as Wolfram lunged forward to place his lips on Yuuri's. Yuuri froze, his mouth closed, resisting against Wolfram's tongue._

_And so Wolfram knew. The Lady Cecelie's son faced the rejection that she had never had, and swiftly turned around and departed._

Wolfram continued to stand. Let his skin be warmed in the morning glow, even though his heart begins its descent into frozen depths. If this is rejection, may it be sweet, in the beautiful sunbathed presence of his daughter's blossoms.

***

The young Great Sage looked up in his walk at dawn, and beheld the soft glow of the tear-streaked face of the former queen's youngest son, unaware of the presence of the Original King's Consort below. His world-weary eyes gazed at the scene above for a few moments, after which he lowered his face and shook his head sadly. "Shibuya, you're an idiot," Murata muttered under his breath, and walked on.

**Author's Note**: This was originally supposed to be another chapter of my story/series of one-shots _Chronicles of Color_, but then I decided that the tone was far too serious. If you could, let me know what you think, and if you want something more lighthearted, try _Chronicles of Color_. Enjoy!

No musical inspiration; instead, it was a beautiful sunny morning on my porch which helped this one-shot along.


	2. Triangle

**Triangle**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou.**

**Author's Note**: Blossoms was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I guess my reviewers changed my mind! Thank you, guitaristah, yuuram shibuya von bielefeld, XZanayu, dragonfairy16, MoonBay11 and ysabellavonbielefeld016, for your encouraging comments, and for giving me the willpower to continue this. And yes, reviews get me to write, so feel free!

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Whether the dream was strange or not was an insignificant argument. The fact that it took place after an event the Demon King of Shin Makoku was unlikely to forget would make it one of the Historic Dreams known by later generations, a dream that changed the course of history. That is, if it escaped the lips of the taciturn King (if only on this subject) and reached the eager ears of Lord Günter von Kleist.

In the previous night's mind-ramble, Shibuya Yuuri had been playing with some sort of intricate puzzle, which consisted of at least eighty small cubes of wood, each with a different design on them. Yuuri, in this dream that took him home to Japan, carried the puzzle wherever he went. He carried them to school, and fiddled with the pieces, forming new designs and patterns under his desk as his mathematics teacher droned on about the usefulness of quadratic equations. Yuuri took the puzzle with him to baseball practice, and surprisingly spent more time preoccupied with his toy. Despite being smacked on the head twice by a ball pitched by teammates with bad aim (or good, depending on their intent), Yuuri continued his delicate organizing of the ornate wooden blocks without so much as a blink. Yuuri, of course, took his puzzle as he moved from one place to another, all the time considering new puzzle-related possibilities.

And then it happened.

He was on a Japan Railways train home, when a straggly bearded man boarded, only about four stops away from Yuuri's destination. For the entire duration of the ride between that stop and the next, the stranger - no one Yuuri had ever seen in waking life - attempted to converse with Yuuri, while the boy irritatedly replied, all the time thinking about his puzzle, which was contained in a small wooden box that he held in his hand. The train stopped and the doors opened. A stream of passengers flooded in, and the aforementioned stranger was pushed aside, knocking himself into Yuuri. Yuuri's hand, the one that held his precious puzzle, flew out and though it clutched onto the box, the lock was insecure. The box was flung open, losing three quarters of the puzzle pieces before Yuuri could rescue them. The black-haired teenager stared in horror as the train doors closed, as many of his beloved wooden blocks were scattered across an unnamed station.

The stranger, seeing the stricken look on the face of his young fellow passenger, reached into his own bag with some difficulty, what with the horde of people now invading the car. He pressed his own little wooden box, expressing his hope that they would be a suitable replacement, and melted into the crowd. Yuuri wordlessly opened this new box, not unlike his own, but what was inside was significantly different. About eighty small ornate wooden _triangles_.

***

It was somewhat early in the morning, an hour after dawn, when Yuuri woke up from the dream. He blinked a couple of times at the ceiling, as the memories of the dream flooded back. He was befuddled by the dream, but his bewilderment faded away as he remembered what passed between Wolfram and himself the previous night. And also the memories of an event that occurred a week prior to this day.

In the previous month, Wolfram had proudly presented his beloved fiance with one of his freshly painted masterpieces. Yuuri stared at the painting, eyes watering up at the intense smell that the current breeze had just decided to throw in his direction. Practice makes perfect, and Wolfram's artwork brought this principle to life; the new painting was a great improvement from some of his earlier pieces. It was of Yuuri and Wolfram, each holding one of the hands of their daughter Greta between them, surrounded on all sides by bearbees, their 'children of love'. A happy family. On the other side, in the lower right-hand corner were the words "To The Wimp - Love, Wolf" in elegant handwriting.

"Thanks, Wolfram," Yuuri hid what would have been a nose-wrinkled grimace, and gave his fiance an awkward one-armed hug. Wolfram beamed, but the moment the blonde uniform-clad prince departed, the King carried the painting into a storage room down the corridor, his nose scrunched up against the powerful odor of the canvas. Yuuri figured that he would wait for the smell to disappear before he had it hung up. It really was a lovely painting.

The painting lay forgotten for three weeks, until Wolfram discovered it in his attempt to retrieve his paints to work on yet another masterpiece. All hell broke loose. Wolfram marched over to Yuuri, who was in the process of signing papers in his office, in the company of Wolfram's half-brother Lord Conrart Weller. Yuuri would have previously thought that any interruption would be welcome while he was at his desk; he was immediately proved mistaken, as he looked up and blanched at the sight of the painting, held by an irate Wolfram. Yuuri spluttered, Wolfram shouted incoherently, Conrart stood in shock as he took in the sheer verbal incomprehensibility before him. Conrart would remember that he would have failed to protect his Majesty when his younger brother threw the painting at Yuuri, had not Lord von Bielefeld remembered his oath to protect and serve his King, and transformed his treasonous act into somewhat else. Wolfram summoned his element of fire, shot out a gleaming stream of fire that caught the painting in midflight, burning it all save for a corner and a few smaller fragments that fell on the floor three ominous inches away from Yuuri's desk. The ashes floated gently down onto the floor, as the golden-haired Mazoku spun on his heel and stomped out, his boots clicking loudly on the stone floor.

Yuuri rose and stepped forward, and knelt in front of what remained of his gift from Wolfram. A single bearbee remained intact on the singed three-sided piece of canvas, the message from Wolfram still visible on the other side.

***

Yuuri pulled out the fragment of canvas out from under his pillow and cradled it in his hands. If that occurrence was not enough, last night certainly had done it. As he was going to find out shortly enough that Lord von Bielefeld and his horse were discovered absent from the Castle and its surrounding grounds. From the Great Sage who was now in the Blood Pledge Castle, stalking towards the Royal Bedroom, a single blossom of Gracious Greta clasped in his left hand.

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**Musical Inspiration**: "Love in the Ice (Japanese version)" by Dong Bang Shin Ki/Tohoshinki and "Last Scene" by Asian Kung-Fu Generation.


	3. Princess

**Princess**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou.**

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the third installment of Blossoms. There is one thing I might like to add before you read this: if the people seem OOC (and I'm pretty sure they are!), I've done my best to account for it, even if it means that the genre of this fanfic might have shifted from angst to suspense and possibly even action/adventure. I also want to thank my recent reviews - kkm-crazyfan24, Incoherent Reviewer, nevynwatcher, Jan, spiralsecrets and XZanayu - thank you very much for your comments!!

And Jan, you're not entirely off about the 'triangle' comment in your review. :) I am also terribly amused at the declarations of Yuuri's idiocy.

Please let me know what you think - about my writing, the characterization, the plot, whatever! Honesty is wonderful, as I really would love to improve!

*******

The Great Sage, Gracious Greta peeking out of one of his trousers' pockets, stood two feet away from the Royal Bed, looking down at the awake occupant. He noticed the King pushing something underneath the pillow as he opened the door and entered the room, but his curiosity would have to wait. Now was the time to speak. "Shibuya," he spoke in a deceptively casual tone, "did you notice Lord von Bielefeld leaving the castle this morning?"

"Maybe he went on one of his rounds or something - doesn't he do that sort of thing?" Yuuri shrugged with a slight smile, never meeting the other boy's eyes. He flung back his covers and pulled himself to the side of the bed away from his former classmate.

Murata paused - was that a tremor in the other double-black's voice? Then - "I think it might be more serious than that. Don't you think?"

Yuuri, now facing away from Murata, said in a tone that exhibited breezy disregard, "If he doesn't show up by this evening, I'll ask Gwendal to send out a search party."

Rarely is his Eminence shocked, but there must always be a first time. Yuuri did not see it, as he walked pajama-clad to his wardrobe, but both of Murata's eyebrows rose high into his forehead. "Shibuya, are you - "

"Murata, I'm going to get dressed, so if you don't mind..." Yuuri opened the wardrobe doors and took out his uniform.

"Whatever," Murata heard himself reply as he turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him.

***

"Right," muttered Murata, once the uncharacteristically blasé King was safely out of earshot. He entered the corridor and paused, for a moment, letting his mind freely wander over the particulars of the situation. The pause lasted for no more than five seconds; the Great Sage was quick to decide his course of action. An attribute acquired from the days of playing Advisor to one of the most whimsical rulers ever known to Shin Makoku.

The black-haired seventeen-year old knew all the secret passageways inside the Blood Pledge Castle and within five miles of it - a legacy of his most famous former life. He knew which mysterious door was hidden behind which portrait on the wall (there was one behind Siegbert von Voltaire leading into the pantry), and even more important, which ones were known and guarded. Armed with this knowledge, he proceeded down five different empty corridors, until he stood underneath a garishly ornate chandelier. He reached out a steady hand and pushed in a single stone slab that was sticking a mere five millimeters out from the rest of the wall, and stood back. A section of the stony wall, measured five feet across and reaching from the floor to the ceiling of the corridor, gave a low groan, much like a very quiet Morgif, and swiveled slowly until half of it was protruding into the hallway, leaving two spaces on the side where one could sqeeze in. Murata slipped through with ease, and once safely inside, he pushed another unspectacular block on the other side which returned the wall to its original location, leaving the Great Sage in a darkness that matched his hair.

Murata fumbled for a moment in his pocket (the one that did not have a flower sticking out of it), and retrieved a tiny flashlight that survived its journey encased in an airtight plastic bag in the waters between Earth and Shin Makoku. Switching it on, he carefully made his way down three narrow flights of stairs, at the bottom of which was a door. He opened it, and found himself in the Royal Depository of Weapons. In the current age of peace, this storage space was undisturbed, even more so that it was early in the morning after a grand ball.

Stepping between the dusty cabinets, he halted in front of one. Never having been one to take part in warfare and battle, he was not an expert at the art of swordsmanship, but there was something else that he had some skill in using, from a former life as a 'one-eyed' bandit (he really had not been one-eyed; he merely wore an eyepatch to deliver a more macho image than his lanky frame would allow) that had a curious fondness for archery . He set down his flashlight opened the doors of a cabinet, after applying a well known code to the combination lock (he obviously would know the code; he created them), and pulled out a bow. He took a moment to string it, checking for tautness. In another case, he found a quiver of arrows, and finally he located two daggers - for what was a bandit without his daggers? Murata strapped the blades on to his body with a leather belt that had been lying next to them, hauled the bow and arrows over his shoulders and made his way to yet another secret door, but not before stopping front of a dusty mirror and shining his light on himself. He rolled his eyes: truth be told, he looked slightly ridiculous, having not gained much in height since he first made his journey as Murata Ken to Shin Makoku. But it would have to do.

*******

Back on the second floor, Murata once again found himself on the corridor of the Royal Bedchamber. This time, he made his way to the Greta's bedroom. He knew that the young Princess was still asleep at seven in the morning; after all, she had been allowed to stay up the previous night to watch the festivities, as well as have a dance with each of her fathers, one dance being hopelessly awkward as Yuuri tried his best to avoid stepping on his child's toes, while Wolfram led the girl in an impressive waltz across the room. He opened the door and stepped noiselessly into the unsupervised bedroom, where Greta lay asleep in a queen-sized bed next to the window, seemingly swimming in a sea of blankets and sheets.

Murata approached her, and gently shook her awake. One eye half open, the princess mumbled, "Is it time to get up?"

Murata knelt by her side, so that he would be face-level to her, and placed his hand on her own curled-up one that rested on her pillow, "Wolfram has left the castle."

Greta sat up, strangely alert at the simple sentence. "Wolfram left for good? Did he and Yuuri have a fight?"

Murata did not know whether to shake his head or nod, but said instead, "I think we should go find him. If you would come with me."

Greta gazed at the Great Sage's face for a few moments, reading what was written there. In the past few years, being a precocious child, she had seen much and learned much about the court relationships and intricacies. She rose, and with a dignity beyond her eleven years of age as a human girl, and said, "Uncle Ken, I'll be ready in a few minutes. Should I meet you in the stables then?"

Murata blinked, "You know that this might not be a...day trip?"

Greta nodded, gesturing at his bow and arrows. "I'll take the secret passageway you showed me. And drop by the kitchen."

The Great Sage let out his breath in a long quiet sigh, and managed a small smile, "Greta. Of all the people in the world, who would have known..."

"That it would be me?" Greta completed the sentence, with a shrug and a sheepish smile. "You've taught me - you shouldn't be surprised."

"And so I did. And if Shibuya realized it, he would be proud."

"If he wasn't..." Greta stopped, a tinge of red visible in the tips of even her dark-complexioned ears.

"I'll say it for you. He's an idiot. Though I guess it wouldn't be right for you to call him an idiot, you still being his kid and a minor at that."

Murata and Greta shared a secret grin, before the former reached into his pocket and pulled out the flower that had witnessed the morning's ordeal, and tucked it behind Greta's left ear. "I'll see you below." Murata stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. The princess wasted no time. After donning plain trousers and an oversized tunic (rather than her royal riding habit that would only draw attention to her elevated status), she pulled out two brown woven sacks, throwing in one of them a few extra articles of clothing, making sure to leave space for food. The other would be for Murata. After these preparations were complete, there was only one thing left to do in her room. She knelt on the floor by the wall closest to the headboard of her bed. Carefully lifting a very well-camouflaged sheet of stone away from the wall, she reached into the hollow behind and pulled out what lay concealed. A dagger, and a leather belt to hold it in place around her waist. Thus armed, she slung the two sacks over her right shoulder, holding them in place with her hand. She paused to fun the fingers of her free hand against the smooth petals of the blossom behind her ear, and then made her way to the kitchens to steal food for herself and Murata, who waited in the stables, saddled and ready for departure.

**BGM/Musical Inspiration**: "Kaishou" from the _Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo _soundtrack.


End file.
